This Moment is Endless
by Serymn
Summary: Scenes and moments, Sasori and Deidara. Together, then one gone, apart, in death, and back to life again. [Series of unconnected vignettes]
1. Condolences

AN: Inspired by 'Admiration', song by Incubus: "It's a photograph discovered, a decade after; its canon blast disguised as a firecracker." This takes place after Sasori's death.

* * *

**Perhaps one at last will be left in peace.**

Deidara was cleaning what was left of Sasori's possessions. Sasori had little, and what he needed he brought everywhere he went and it all fit with him inside Hiruko. It seemed odd when he found a single travel suitcase in Sasori's room at headquarters. Inside, there was a pair of luxurious fur-lined robes, one black and the other silver-grey. He recognized these as clothes Sasori used to adorn his puppet creations. There's a stack of blank, unwritten scrolls. There are heavy hard-bound books of old medical and chemistry texts dating thirty years ago, along with thinner paperback copies of classic plays. There's a large sketchbook filled with drawings of puppet prototypes.

Hidden under all these things, a book bound in black leather caught his eye. He traces the embossed symbol on the cover Sasori used to mark his creations: an outline of a red scorpion. Sasori always owned nice things that look like they weren't bought but _made_ with the highest quality materials and the finest craftsmanship. Sasori himself made them, probably.

Deidara opens the book, and realizes it's a picture album.

It's unlike any photo album he has seen before. All the pictures look as if they were freshly printed, colors still crisp and clear as the day they were taken, though he's sure they were years old.

The first page is a picture of a smiling couple holding an infant: a dark-haired woman with wide brown eyes and a man with red hair touching the child's head. Deidara recognized them as Sasori's parents judging from appearance. He briefly thinks that Sasori got his eyes from the mother, and the bright shock of red hair from the father. The next pages are filled with pictures of the couple, together and alone.

The next pictures are a timeline of Sasori's life, from infant to a boy. The parents are absent and the pictures feature him and an older woman he knew as the one who ended up ending her own grandson's life. Sasori's life. There's Sasori wearing a Suna hitae-ate, dressed in all black, as a genin in the middle of four wooden puppets.

He turned to another page and saw two same pictures of Sasori standing in front of a cave wall, illuminated by the ochre light of flickering candles. Deidara noticed that the two pictures were taken at different times by the differing cast of shadows on the background of rocks.

An involuntary shiver runs through his spine when he realizes that these are _transition_ pictures from human to puppet. The only thing giving it away is the faint and almost-invisible lines on his neck and arms, now with lethal things hidden at the seams.

All the pictures after that, Sasori's face never changes.

There was an old group picture of the Akatsuki, one of those less serious photo shoots where they dramatically pose in their most evil poses as a parody of their own organization. There was Hiruko as Sasori. Itachi looked barely fourteen and there was a couple of members he couldn't name – one of which was probably a deceased former partner of Kakuzu.

Deidara smiles at several pictures of Orochimaru and Sasori. The snake guy's grin is fanged but he was quite good-looking as a young man, and Sasori looking sullen beside him. There are many pictures of puppets, in life and after Sasori has made them to art.

The last pages were blank. There's a heap of unfiled pictures tucked between random, empty pages. They were pictures with Deidara- the first with Hiruko, when Sasori hadn't revealed his real appearance yet. They had been in a town on their first mission together, and Deidara found a Polaroid camera. The picture was a grinning Deidara holding up a hand in a peace sign (and mouth in his palms also smiling) and Hiruko scowling at the camera as usual. Deidara wore his hair a different style then, not a tight top-knot but in a loose ponytail or braid.

Deidara remembers that he has the same copies, tucked in a pocket one of his bags for clay he never bothered to look at again once they were placed there. There were more pictures with Sasori in his real form, too. Mostly, it was Deidara who likes the picture-taking. Sasori always wore the same sleepy, slightly annoyed expression; though in a few pictures he was smiling and that was cute, Deidara thought.

For over three years worth of pictures, Sasori had always looked the same. Deidara was sixteen years old then, and he's now nineteen. There are marked changes in his appearance, no longer the scrawny boy when he first joined Akatsuki. He had looked more androgynous then – but through time, the almost feminine softness was replaced by unmistakable maleness. It was eerie, looking at how Sasori never changed in contrast to him.

Their last picture together was taken before their mission in Suna to capture the jinchuuriki. It was one of those rare pictures where Sasori's smiling, with Hiruko between him and Deidara. A large clay bird is in background, a picture taken before flight. There is a soft glow of multi-colored light on their faces suggesting distant fireworks. A rare moment.

The disorder of the last pictures gave the impression that Sasori simply tossed in the newer pictures of the last three years without giving them a second thought. It seemed that no one has opened the album from the first page for a long time.

_Like anything that is left for the future as a thing of eternal beauty... He got killed straight off!_

Deidara remembers thinking this upon returning to Sasori and finding him dead. _A magnificent death for an artist_, to see Sasori among his own destroyed creations, in the death embrace of the puppet versions of his mother and father. _What a moving finale, even for me_, Deidara had thought.

Looking at all these pictures made Deidara miss Sasori, but he's glad about it. Save for the arguments, they had a good partnership. It was great while it lasted. He even thinks that those debates about art are what he will remember fondly most of all.

It was always the brief, ordinary moments that he had seemed to forget, flash back most vividly.

Like how Deidara liked it more when Sasori scolded him in his real form, not through the impatient lashes of Hiruko's tail he always dodges anyway. Sasori had looked like a fifteen-year-old. It amused Deidara to no end that it always looked like a kid was reprimanding him and calling him _you brat_, and he was calling that same kid _Master_. Deidara was only smiling at himself at how Sasori looked like a cute, homicidal teen threatening to kill him, and he ends up not listening to what Sasori's saying anymore once he starts laughing. Those arguments end up with Sasori retreating back to Hiruko, glaring before closing the lid and confining himself in – only to attempt choking Deidara with the poison tail again. Deidara kept on laughing. Even with implied death threats earlier, Sasori's last sigh had sounded almost amused.

He keeps the last picture, and removes everything with himself in it. Akasuna no Sasori was almost a legend, so he's sure these things and the whole album will sell for the highest prices at black market auctions. Deidara's sure there must be missing-nin fans collecting things like this, or maybe even Sunagakure's puppet brigade will be interested. He'll leave them all to Kakuzu to bother about.

~oOo~


	2. Beginnings

A/N: ...been lurking in fandom for too long. Title prompts from 52_flavors.

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**Secret city of people**

Flying over the sky hundreds of feet above-ground on a clay-winged bird, the view below zoomed in high definition on his scope, Deidara watches a magnificent dance in the darkness. This is the first time Deidara sees Sasori fight with his latest favorite human puppet, a masked female garbed in a crimson flowing silk robe reminiscent of flames.

She descended on an awed platoon of ninja. This angel of war seemed to grow swords of flame on her arms, setting seal tattoos written on her arms and feet aglow. One swing of her blades and a blazing fire spiral left the sudden dead scattered on a perfect arc. A tide of blood erupted around her like a splattered red wave.

_Scorpion of the red sands..._

The invisible chakra threads that control her make her eyes survey the fresh kill. Sasori appears beyond, not inside the protection of Hiruko.

Deidara wouldn't have known the woman wasn't human (anymore) if not for the red tattoo of a scorpion on her ankle, Sasori's trademark.

In one fast movement, the puppet disappears from sight in a cloud of smoke as Sasori closes the scroll. He looks up at Deidara.

A year ago, she was an oracle of the Fire temple, guarding sacred and ancient secret techniques. How Hiruko was destroyed so easily made her another favorite in the Master's collection. It took almost a year for her to be finalized into this fighting version. Sasori's deep into studying and practicing all the techniques he had stolen, all that the warrior could do.

Deidara's clay bird flies down. "Wonderful, isn't she, Master?" A wing descends next to Sasori's feet and he steps up behind Deidara and sits. The bird ascends, and soon the wind is blowing over them and stars as innumerable as sand seemed to surround them.

"We will reach the Wind country by morning, Sasori-danna."

Wind blows through his red hair and closes his eyes, and wraps the cloak tighter around himself – even if he could not sleep or dream, even if he could not feel the cold.

~oOo~


	3. Beginnings II

AN: This one's not the best, I'm working on 2 more with 1,000+ words. Suggest ideas!

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**Ride the wind and rise to the moon**

Deidara not only views his explosions as art, but treats his duels as performance. "Just enjoy the show," he tells a scowling Hiruko.

Deidara was excited to fight the Shukaku jinchuuriki, planning the 'show' instead of taking precautions. Sasori thought he was horribly unprepared. This is a kazekage, and he recalls his own long-ago fight with the Third that he wasn't even sure he'll survive.

Sasori watches from the cave anyway. Great tan waves of sand cover the air, with sporadic fire-colored explosions appearing here and there, against the background of a full moon and starless sky. He recognizes the white bird where Deidara is. The sand moves too fast and the bird dodges and flies, and the sand catches up faster. He can see the bird topple over and a small dark figure flying down and knows it is Deidara.

Deidara never falls. He saunters and cartwheels through the air as if gravity has no effect, some special jutsu used by Stone-nin. Soon, the bird catches him again. He knows Deidara is smiling with that crooked, all-teeth smile of his like he's giddy even with fatal wounds and missing limbs.

He knows that soon, if Deidara will make it out alive, the bird will slip into the wide mouth of the cave where he is waiting. For now, he will watch.

~oOo~


	4. Condolences II

**And turn and go up to the open door boldly, and knock to the echoes as beggars for roses.**

A night in one of Deidara's long travels across the continents, he stops over Suna. There are still construction sites on where he last exploded the place, from capturing the Jinchuuriki. He's careful to use a jutsu to conceal his presence – last he heard, the Kazekage had been resurrected, now alive and well. The clay bird where he is flies over the streets, quiet and invisible. He's not here for a mission, just for curiosity.

He stops over one of the many windows of the Kazekage's palatial abode. If the rumors and reports can be trusted, he'll find what he's looking for in this particular room.

He steps into the dark room of Kankuro's work shop. Pieces of metal and wood are scattered all over, tools in disarray on a shelf. It is a welcome difference from the eerie cave where Sasori does his work.

It's silent, with only insentient eyes and deaf ears to greet him in the dark. On one long table, there's the puppet face who once had been the Third Kazekage, Sasori's favorite among his collection. So far, only the face and torso has been reconstructed, but Deidara doubts this will be used again for battle. The secrets of hitokugutsu had died with Sasori, never to be known or used again. But this is not what Deidara had sneaked in to see.

He saw it sitting on the chair, clothed in old-style Suna garb of a dark green high-collared robe that reached the floor and covered his arms. _Scorpion_. It regarded Deidara coolly with dead eyes. From its position, the Scorpion puppet seemed to contemplate the broken remains of the Third Kazekage.

Deidara takes a seat on an empty chair beside it.

This is the puppet body of the Sasori he knew. Those hands placed on the table, as if lightly grasping something fragile and invisible. It had always amazed Deidara how Sasori made this body look so human. The skin is made of some soft resin to imitate real flesh. Those hands look soft to the touch, slender fingers the texture of candles tapering to waxy nails. Delicate and almost-there green veins just underneath the epidermis... they don't look like hands of a shinobi.

Slowly, he touches both of those hands and covers them in his own tanned, callused ones. The closed lips of his palms brush Sasori's knuckles. He's never touched Sasori like this, in life. A cold breeze rushes in the room, making the puppet's red hair move ever so slightly. Deidara proceeds to brush a finger on Sasori's cheek – there are lines running from the edges of the lips to his jaws and chin, no doubt a change made by Kankuro.

It reminds him that the body he's touching is simply another of Sasori's hundreds of puppets. It is no longer him. He's touching something not quite a corpse, but a _shell _or _vessel_.

Scorpion does not move. It neither accepts nor denies the touch.

Deidara hears the sound of conversation and rustling footsteps outside. He squeezed Sasori's hands in his own and imagines that the lifeless thing held on. He relaxes his grip and the hands fall slowly back to the table. One last good look at the puppet who had once been Sasori (_just a moment to sustain me, its enough_), and he walks to the window and leaps to the clay bird waiting.

Just as the door opened, the wings flapped silently and Deidara flies on. There's a mission in another country to attend to, tomorrow.

~oOo~

AN: This is loosely inspired by Caitlin R. Kiernan's "Ode to Katan Amano", it's a podcast of a short story, and has a good description of an abandoned puppeteer's workshop. It's better than this. Seriously, search for it. I listened and thought, 'This is so Sasori'.


	5. Afterlife

AN: This chap was supposed to be "Black Riding Hood" (see AN of last chapter) but that's getting complicated- it unexpectedly shot to 10 pages (still growing). So I'll post the edo tensei fic that's sitting on my documents for a while. Mostly from Sasori's perspective. I'm not even sure about how edo tensei works, but they must feel basic human feelings/senses, right?

* * *

**Like the dew that clings for life, on hare's-foot fern; So I, too, rely on you... though I may vanish.**

_Awake_, is Sasori's first thought upon coming back from death. Not _I'm alive_. He notices the feeling of crisp clothes against his skin, the warm sunlight on his face... and is startled for the first time by the fact that he can _feel_ them.

_Edo tensei_, he recognizes immediately. He remembers dying, but doesn't recall anything about Death. Afterlife was Nothing. Still, he remembers long-ago conversations with Orochimaru when this forbidden technique was mere theory. He just didn't expect he would be a subject.

His skin is criss-crossed all over with strange veins that appear randomly, small cracks breaking the expanse of flesh. It reminds him that this body is not his, that even if it is empowered by a dark energy impossible to destroy—it is only a borrowed corpse. Still, he is impressed that Orochimaru's knowledge has encompassed life and death. The Sannin's influence is still deciding the fate of the world even if he is gone and dead, even through that Kabuto bastard who once worked for him. It is strange how Kabuto seemed to be growing slowly to become Orochimaru, his face a strange mixture of two faces Sasori once knew too well.

This new body is perfect. He cuts his own skin but there is no pain or blood, and is healed completely even as the knife runs deep in his wrist. He feels stronger than ever, chakra multiplied a hundredfold compared to his meager puppet body in a former life. He didn't miss his old body.

Through his reflection, eyes that stare back at him look emptier, brown irises dulled by the surrounding black instead of white. It reminds him that he is dead. He doesn't care about this war, but being dead anyway, he has no choice. Involved or not, he has nothing left to lose... or gain. He's sure if he wants too, he will eventually find a way to reverse Kabuto's control, but finds himself to be too _tired_, bored of living and just wants it to be over.

The remaining odors of death, of another person on whose body he is now residing, still clings. The long-forgotten senses of touch and smell overwhelm him, as if he's feeling them all again for the first time.

He meets Deidara again, and the small reunion was rather unpleasant, with the brat mocking Sasori's death and babbling about 'last ultimate art' and 'Uchiha Sasuke' until Sasori's eyes glazed over in a thin tolerance and wasn't actually listening anymore. Deidara did die exploding himself a year ago, before he even turned twenty. It only proved correct Sasori's prediction of his early death. Sasori wished there was Hiruko's tail to attempt slashing through Deidara's throat again, that there was poison to sedate the brat for a while to shut him up.

Death does things to you. Sasori was more bored and lethargic than ever, and he can't remember feeling impatience. He knows that even forbidden techniques that seem infallible have a glitch. His intuition tells him that sooner or later, Kabuto's trick will fall apart and they will be truly dead again like they're supposed to be. All he has to do is wait. He wasn't good at waiting, in a previous life, but finds he doesn't care enough for now.

Deidara seemed to be enjoying it, seeing it as a new chance at bringing his art to greater heights. Deidara's getting along better with Kabuto than anyone else, to both Sasori's amusement and annoyance.

* * *

He needs to wash away the cloying corpse smell of this body. They have few hours until morning to themselves before their time in the war.

He walks to the river that night, illuminated by moonlight. He sees Deidara sitting on a rock by the banks, dressed in a cloak and already drying his hair with a towel. "Oh, it's you; Sasori-danna… something about this body is really odd. There's this stench I can't get rid of. Thinking of a bath? Here."

Deidara throws him the towel and a small plastic bag. He catches them, and checks the plastic. Inside is soap and bottles of shampoo and conditioner.

It has been so long since he needed to use these trivialities.

Deidara is combing his thick, damp hair, its length now reaching to his hips. Deidara takes his time to smooth out the tangles, running his hand and comb carefully through the strands. It mildly surprised Sasori to see both of Deidaras eyes visible, the blue rings of irises made brighter by the surrounding black—no scope or bangs to obscure his whole face. He smiles at Sasori.

It was only then that Sasori noticed he was already staring at Deidara for more than a minute without speaking.

Sasori strides to the river and shrugs off his shoes, cloak, pants, and leaves them on the ground behind Deidara. He steps to the running water and feels pebbles pressing on his foot. He feels cool water surrounding his body, something he has never felt for a very long time. He cups water in his hands and drinks. He didn't think the simple taste of water was something he'd miss, and he drank enough to fill his empty stomach.

Sasori starts to swim, his movements first uncertain since he hasn't done this since childhood. He experimentally laps back and forth through the soft rush of river water. Deidara is still busy with his own hair, but watching him.

"I miss this, the water," Sasori says, as he floats past Deidara, staring at the night sky while doing a backstroke.

"I would, too, if I had been a marionette for a couple of decades," Deidara answers.

"Get the shampoo, please," he tells Deidara, who laughed at that, and threw the bag at him again. An arm splashes out the water as he grabs for it. Sasori dunks his head in the water, then proceeds to lather shampoo on his hair.

"That's menthol anti-dandruff shampoo," Deidara tells him, still snickering. The foam feels cool on his scalp, and he takes too long massaging foam into his hair, finding the minty sensation pleasant. He hadn't really noticed it already took him so long simply shampooing, until Deidara tells him to rinse off and use the conditioner already.

"Whats that for, anyway?" Sasori asks. "Prevents tangles! It makes hair easier to comb and shinier," Deidara says, holding up his blond locks for emphasis. Sasori decided he doesn't need it. He swims to the other side of the river bank, sits, and proceeds to lather soap on his skin. He then swims some more, savoring the sensation of water, letting the current wash the soap off him. Deidara is still and just smiling at nothing, watching him with contentment.

He goes out of the water and sits, and dries himself. He puts on clothing again, and Deidara hands him the comb.

"Kabuto told me, that I should've seen people's faces when I died. I'm the one exploding, so how could I," Deidara says, slowly, whispering.

Deidara describes how it felt to have each vein in his body transfigure, cells compressed to nothing but energy, turning to a white blaze searing forth the sky and covering the sun in its upturned arms.

He spoke so quietly, telling Sasori, "You should've seen it too, yeah..."

It's pointless, Sasori knows, and it makes him remember his own dying among his own destroyed puppets. He still remembers his creations, even all the names of those that had been human. Chiyo's face, and that last stabs of his pathetic puppet 'parents' is still clear in his mind.

Half-listening to Deidara, the river, and the sound of distant crickets, Sasori began to feel drowsy. After twenty years, the promise of real sleep seemed so enticing. He finds a dry corner somewhere in the rocks, something to lean on.

* * *

Sasori wakes to darkness with Deidara asleep in his arms, the other's head lying on the crook of his elbow. Not feeling the need for sleep anymore, he detaches himself from the loose embrace to sit, gently adjusting Deidara to lie on the folded towels they used as pillows. It is still, and silent, except for their breathing and the gentle rush of the river nearby.

"Danna..." Deidara calls out in sleep from the separation, sounding like an abandoned child. Arms reach out to Sasori in the dark, trying to grasp. Sasori lies down again. Deidara reaches out to him unconsciously, pressing closer, entwining their bodies as if he would never let go. Human warmth unfelt for decades overwhelms Sasori, and he holds on so close to breathe in the scent of Deidara's hair.

It makes Sasori remember: himself as a mere boy, embracing and embraced by unliving puppets in sleep during cold nights. The distant memory: of wooden arms lovingly surrounding his frail body, hands touching his face in a gesture of assurance. All along, he was only a child fooling himself. Caught in his own illusion, he forgets the hold of control through the chakra strings... the mock bodies fall, and it ends. He had hated himself and Chiyo then, when he still did not understand _why_.

This, now, is different. Something he can touch, someone _breathing_ who can touch in return, even for just this time.

Nothing lasts forever. Even this. Sasori now knows that as true, death has proved that. He lets himself bask in the warmth, to keep himself awake for a bit more to watch Deidara's sleeping, peaceful face. He can stay like this until morning, just watching it, memorizing everything that even when he closes his eyes the image remains.

~oOo~


	6. Escape

AN: Takes place after ch. 5 (Afterlife). Alternate ending to manga ch. 519. I don't hate Kankuro, just wanted to write a slightly evil Sasori.

* * *

**Escape**

Deidara wakes, and the first thing he sees is Sasori staring at him. They are seated under a tree far from a river, with Sasori's arm draped over his shoulder. He had slept _on _Sasori. Deidara sat up straight and tied his hair to the usual style he wore it. Sasori's hand fell to lightly clutch on his waist. It felt weird, Sasori touching him. He probably missed _feeling_ simple sensations he hasn't felt for so long. Deidara didn't mind at all.

"I've been thinking about how I can break Kabuto's control. It is possible, but there are downsides," Sasori said.

"Hm?"

"A seal. However, once we break it these bodies will stay immortal - which is fine with me, but I'm not sure for you," Sasori continued.

"We? Yeah, I'll agree. Maybe we could figure out another way out of that," Deidara nodded.

"Now, listen carefully..." and Sasori explained it in a low voice.

"Got it, danna," Deidara said, and both of them executed a complex pattern of hand seals in unison.

"That's it," Sasori said.

"Oh, I didn't even feel anything different. But, where do we go after the war? I mean, its too exciting not to miss, yeah? I'd still like to fight."

"Very well. After _that_, we're free. Since Akatsuki's no longer what it used to be... do whatever you want. We're no longer partners responsible for each other."

"I'd still stay here, maybe. The war would be a perfect setting for my art."

"I won't. I have no patience for anyone so low he'd use dead people to fight for him, without us wanting to. He's Orochimaru's minion, and I will not allow him to control me."

"Then... Danna, I guess I'd still want to stay with you. Anywhere but here?"

"You sure? Your choice," Sasori said, just before they felt Kabuto summoning them.

"I made sure Kabuto wouldn't detect this, but let's go..." Sasori added as they disappeared to another location.

* * *

"My spirit as a puppeteer ninja is strong enough to beat you and your attacks," Kankuro went on with this speech to Sasori, much to Deidara's irritation. Both of them had been captured inside those wooden puppets, and a controlling seal keeps them unable to use chakra. Deidara couldn't believe Sasori would still listen, or god forbid _consider_, what crap Kankuro was saying. Sasori can't back out from their plan now. Sasori must help him find a way out...

"I want you to have my Mother and Father puppets as well. There's another thing I wish you to do before I go," said Sasori to Kankuro.

_What?_

There was the sound of something crashing. The wooden confinement around Deidara shattered as well. Sasori was now standing beside him, amidst the broken Black Ant puppets, both hands held out and glowing chakra threads controlling his own former puppet body. Deidara pried himself off the iron cable tying him up and stood.

"You forget, kid, that I made these puppets. Since you claim to be so good, then make your own. Using that is an insult. Destroy it, Deidara," Sasori said as he pulled the Scorpion puppet closer.

"My pleasure, Danna," Deidara said, as he released a clay figure.

"How could you?" Kankuro asked as he prepared for attack, but Deidara is faster, screaming "Katsu!" and the louder sound of detonation heard after.

All that remains of the other puppets, including Sasori's former body, became combusted dust from the explosion. The shock on Kankuro's face made Deidara smirk, but Sasori remained passive.

"I made them. I'll destroy them if I want to," Sasori said.

Another bomb set off sent everyone jumping out of a mile-range explosion. There was thick smoke, and there, standing on a clay bird above ready to fly away was Deidara and Sasori. Sasori's crossing his arms and looking down at them. Deidara's showing them both his hands, one sticking out a tongue and the other flashing a middle finger at Kankuro. The bird encircled them and flew away in a noisy flap of wings that blew the thick dust and smoke to their faces.

* * *

~oOo~


End file.
